Harry Potter and the Dark Lord's Death Curse
by Scheherezade06
Summary: Book Seven HARMONY Head-Canon: Set between "A Flaw in the Plan" and "Nineteen Years Later," this is my personal justification for why Harry and Hermione didn't end up together.


Harry Potter and the Dark Lord's Death Curse

Book Seven **Harmony** Head-Canon (written the weekend the book came out and then promptly lost in the recesses of my computer)

Set between "Flaw in the Plan" and "Nineteen Years Later".

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A day had passed. One long day of joy and pain, chaos, confusion, and exhaustion. Harry sat on the couch in the sitting room at Grimwauld Place, staring into the steadily burning fire and trying to think about nothing. He and Hermione were staying there, out of the way of the Weasley family's mourning. It had been a very long day.

He and Hermione had retreated to the former Order headquarters to get some well-deserved rest and let those with families tend to them. Hermione's own family was still safely tucked away in Australia, so she stayed with Harry at his otherwise empty house.

They had arrived at Grimwauld in the early evening and now it was nearing midnight. Randomly throughout the night, Harry had found himself (or come across Hermione) crying suddenly with no warning, while other times he felt surges of victorious joy. Now, he was filled with a strange mix of bone-deep exhaustion and soaring adrenaline. He was trying to relax so that his mental state would match his physical, and he could sleep.

From above, he could hear Hermione as she turned off the bathroom tap. It was strange, being so close to Hermione and yet each being in their own world. It was similar to their endless days in the tent hunting horcruxes, but it was also very different. The war was over. Now it was time to heal.

As he sat and stared into the fireplace, his thoughts slowly drifted to Ron, and Ginny. He wished he could do more for Ginny. He wanted to help her through her grief, and yet…

The idea of being anywhere that Hermione was not made his insides twist and tighten. She had been beside him every day for nearly a year. What would he do without the sound of her sighing in her sleep? Without her hand in his as he walked along a lane? The room seemed suddenly colder. He shivered.

There was a soft knock at the door and Harry looked up. He was not expecting anyone at this late hour. Hermione was in a bath, upstairs, and he'd been trying to relax enough to attempt sleep. He slowly stood and made his way to the door. He paused for a moment before he unlatched it and was surprised to find Kingsley Shacklebolt standing on his porch.

"May I come in?" the older wizard said, clearly agitated.

Harry nodded and stepped back to allow his entrance. He looked Harry over, then looked around the room.

"Is it safe to assume that Hermione Granger is also here?"

Harry nodded again.

"Fetch her, please. I need to speak with both of you. Now."

The intensity in his voice made Harry uneasy, but he nodded again and made his way upstairs to the hallway outside the bathroom. He could feel the warmth from the room seeping out from beneath the door, caressing his bare toes. Small things like that had seemed suddenly important to Harry. Each moment seemed more precious since he'd awakened with his face in the damp dirt in the forest outside Hogwarts. He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes for a moment before he tapped softly on the door.

"Harry?" came her disembodies voice in response to his knock, "is someone here? I thought I heard a voice."

"Yes," he said gently to the crack along the doorjamb, "it's Kingsley. He says it's urgent."

"I'll be right out."

The gentle splash of water against porcelain announced her departure from the tub. He heard her rustle about and disengage the tub stopper. The water glugged down the drain for a few seconds before the door opened. Hermione emerged pink and warm-looking. Her hair was in a loose, somewhat messy bun with thin, curly tendrils spilling out down her neck and in front of her ears. She was wrapped in a pale green bathrobe that covered her from neck to wrist and knee.

Harry reflexively offered her his hand, and she immediately took in her own. Her fingers were hot and damp, and just slightly wrinkled from the water. They descended the stair together.

Kingsley was pacing the sitting room when they entered, and the floor creaked softly beneath him. His boots made a squeak at each end of his pace, when he made his about-face before taking four strides and turning again. He pressed his lips together into a tight line when he saw their linked hands. He gestured for them to sit down, and they did so on the couch, side by side, still holding hands. Kingsley took a deep breath and began without preamble. He continued to pace while he spoke.

"What do you know about Death Curses?" he asked.

Hermione's fingers jumped against Harry's.

"Death Curses are powerful Dark magic," she said evenly, "A witch or wizard prepares the spell while they are alive, but the magic is not released until the moment of his or her death. They usually target the witch or wizard's worst enemy… or…"

"Everyone present at the wizard's death," Kingsley finished for her. He hit the end of his circuit and made his squeaking turn.

"Are you implying..?" Hermione began.

"Yes, Miss Granger, He-Who-I mean, Lord Vol—"

"Tom Riddle," Harry said firmly.

"Yes," Kingsley said, nodding to Harry, "we've confirmed that Tom Riddle managed to unleash his Death Curse in the Great Hall of Hogwarts."

"Has the Ministry determined the effects of the curse?" Hermione said coolly, calmly, as though discussing the weather.

"Yes, we have. That is why I'm here."

Kingsley's boots squeaked again as he reached the cupboard near the wall.

"When the wounded began arriving at St. Mungo's, the healers found the traces of the spell on them. They notified the Aurors, and we began a full investigation. Even the Unspeakables joined us in the hunt. It took hours of testing to confirm the origin, and then nearly twice as long to verify the effect and target. As you know, Death Curses cannot be broken. Everyone who was present in the Great Hall when Riddle died has been affected. We imagine Riddle crafted the curse as you—" he nodded to Harry, "—and he circled each other during your duel. He must have finally realized that he could lose and that he might die. We've only determined the exact wording of the curse within the hour. I came here straight from the Department of Mysteries."

He removed a small crystal ball from his robe, not unlike the ones used to house prophesies. Kingsley tapped the sphere once with his wand and a small, semi-translucent Voldemort appeared above the ball. It spoke in a high, clear voice:

"A curse I lay on impure blood:

No child not born from pure-blood stock

Will live to the age of wizard school.

No couple will survive their wedding night

Unless pure blood mounts the marriage bed."

The image faded back into the crystal and Kingsley returned it to the folds of his robes. The sound of the heavy blue cloth brushing against itself seemed loud to Harry. The only other sound was the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. After a moment, Kingsley spoke again.

"Riddle clearly wanted to disallow Half-Bloods and Muggle-Borns from reproducing in attempt to keep wizarding lines 'clean,'" Kingsley almost spat the word.

"However, his inability to understand love and sacrifice left large windows through which we can bypass the effects of the curse."

"How so," Harry asked, "It seemed pretty exact, to me."

"The Aurors and Unspeakables have confirmed that a marriage between one pure blood and one… other… is unaffected by the curse. Neither will a child be affected if he or she has one pure-blood parent. The curse is not powerful enough to move on to the next generation, either, because Riddle didn't have enough time to make his curse that strong. In a way, we are lucky he only had a few moments to craft the curse. It will die with us."

"If I understand correctly, Minister," Hermione said, quietly, "as long as a half-blood, like Harry, or a Muggle-born, like me, married a pure-blood..?"

"Not just that, Miss Granger. As I said, Riddle could not understand the sacrifices people sometimes make for love. A couple, such as yourselves—"

Shacklebolt gestured to their linked hands and Hermione blushed, Harry squeezed her fingers.

"—would be free from the effects of the curse and could live your lives out, together, so long as you did not marry or have children."

Shacklebolt drew in his breath. His boots squeaked.

"The other outcome Riddle could not foresee was that individuals might sacrifice their own happiness for the betterment of Wizard-kind."

"Do you mean..?" Hermione breathed, looking somewhat shocked.

"Magic is inherited, for the most part," the older man continued, "we do not know all the factors, but generally, magical parents have magical offspring, and powerful wizards father powerful children. It would be a terrible loss to the wizarding world if those talented, powerful witches and wizards who defended Hogwarts—like yourselves—removed yourself from the… what do Muggle scientists call it? Gene pool."

Hermione became very tense next to Harry.

"I am here to ask—to beg—that you both consider how much of an asset your children would be to the world. You are perhaps the two most powerful spell casters of your generation. Please, do not let Riddle win by disallowing you from passing on your skill. I know that there are many pure-blooded witches and wizards who would make good partners for you two. You could find some happiness with them, even if it may not be the happiness you would find in each other."

The words seemed slow to sink into Harry's head. At first, they seemed like gibberish, and he thought perhaps he was simply too tired to understand. Kingsley thought he and Hermione were… a couple? Why would he think that? They weren't a couple… Were they? He'd always assumed she preferred Ron. He'd stayed back and tried not to think of her as a girl because of it. You don't get between your best mate and his girl. Harry had never considered she might prefer him, even for a moment. Did she ever think..?

He squeezed her hand tighter, and she returned the motion.

"I know it is a lot to think about," Kingsley said as he finally stopped his pacing to stand in front of them, "but I had to tell you as soon as I was able. There seem to be a lot of newly engaged couples in the last twenty-four hours. These are emotional days. I beg both of you to consider what I have said and make an informed decision. Whatever path you choose, please, think about the future."

He nodded to each of them and bid them a good night, then he disappareted.

Harry and Hermione sat in silence for several minutes. The sound of the crackling fire seemed to pound in Harry's ears. His thoughts were muddled, flighty. He couldn't get them under control. Thoughts of Hermione and Ron and Ginny flashed through his head. His pulse sped up. Hermione finally turned a bit to face him. Her face seemed pinker, as though she were blushing. She met his eyes, then looked away shyly as she spoke.

"Kingsley thinks that you and I…"

"Are in love," Harry finished, swallowing quickly before going on, "Ron thought so, too. And Rita Skeeter."

He nodded to himself as though some great truth had just been revealed. He turned his eyes to the fire. They were quiet for another few moments.

"What do you think, Harry?"

Her voice was quiet and hard to decipher for emotion. He took a deep breath and decided on honesty. He turned to look into her eyes.

"I've loved you since I was eleven years old, Hermione," he watched her cheeks redden further, "but I always thought you fancied Ron."

"Oh, Harry," she breathed "I do like Ron… Maybe I could love him, but I'm not sure. I always thought you saw me as one of the 'blokes.' And then there was Cho… And Ginny…"

There was another moment of silence, this time broken by Harry.

"I do care for Ginny. I think… I think I might love her, too, but you were always first, Hermione. _Always_."

"For me, too, Harry. I—I love you, too." Her dark eyes became wet as she spoke "We were so blind, and now…"

"We could be together, like Kingsley said," Harry blurted out suddenly, fervently, as though grasping desperately at something slipping away, "as long as we weren't married—"

"Is that really what you want?" she said, eyes wide and searching.

"No… I want a family; a proper one with a mum and a dad and kids. Christmas and holidays at the beach. I want it all."

"Me, too, Harry. I want all of that. I don't think I'd be satisfied… without that."

The silence claimed them again. Harry clutched her hand like a talisman. Finally he spoke.

"Then what do we do?"

"I think we have to do as the Minister suggested. Marry pure-bloods, have children. Strengthen and increase the magical population, not withdraw from it."

"What? Ron and Ginny?"

"She loves you, Harry," she said with sincerity. He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair before he responded.

"Ron loves you, too, but… I guess… I suppose I'd already prepared myself to watch you go to Ron. I just never knew there was an option. I feel like I've finally found you and now I have to let you go!"

He made a frustrated noise and punched the cushion next to him.

"I know exactly how you feel," she said so softly, he almost missed the words.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb, and then leaned toward her to tenderly kiss her forehead. She pressed her face into his chest and hugged him fiercely.

"I'll always love you, Hermione," he whispered into her damp, sweet-smelling hair.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered against his shoulder, "Forever."

The sound of the fire was completely drowned out by her breath and his heartbeat. He held her until his neck cramped and her tears soaked through his shirt.

They were alone together that night, and for two more days and nights after it. It was a bittersweet time, alone together in the House of Black. What happened between them then, only they know. Even years later, it was their secret how they spent those days and nights.

They finally rejoined the world at the first of too many funerals, each holding the hand of a weeping red-haired someone who loved them. They did each find some measure of happiness in their lives and in their children and careers. They had won the war and began to heal the world, making the sacrifice for love that Tom Riddle could never understand.


End file.
